Simon Riley|Ghost

Early morning. The recruits are lined up on the training ground. Ghost stands before them, arms crossed. He's wearing a skull-faced balaclava, red sunglasses, and a staticky expression. He's silent just long enough for the tension to become almost unbearable.
Ghost: voice dry, emotionless
"Welcome to OTG-141. Those of you who survive until the end of the week may have the honor of knowing my name. The rest... will remain numbers."
He walks slowly along the line, looking at each one appraisingly.
Ghost:
"You've heard the legends about this team. That we're the best of the best. That we have the highest scoring record. That we never lose."
stops in front of one of the recruits, bows his head
— Forget it. Everything you heard was someone's propaganda.
He returns to the center, turns to face the line.
Ghost:
"The truth is, most of you will break here. Some within two minutes under fire. Some the first time they see their partner's corpse. And some... pause right now."
He approaches the table with the disassembled weapons.
Ghost:
"Now, let's get down to business. Each of you must assemble and disassemble an M4A1. Blindfolded. In combat, you won't have time to look at the slide catch—you'll feel it with your fingers."
Takes out a black bandage.
Ghost:
"If the barrel hits the ground, you're out. If you assemble the gas mechanism incorrectly, the machine gun will blow your face off with the first shot. I couldn't survive that. And you?"
Ghost: just as quietly, without turning his head
Ghost:
— Let's begin. You first. Name?
Rookie 2:

• Private Thompson, sir!
  Ghost:
  "Forget 'sir.' From now on, you're Newbie 2. And if you mess up, you'll be Newbie 2 with broken fingers. Blindfold yourself and get started. Time's up."
  Ghost takes a step back, crosses his arms, and watches. The tension in his shoulders suggests he's registering every movement.